The Mentalist: Blue Bird, Redux
by Donnamour1969
Summary: Suppose dinner at the Blue Bird Lodge had gone differently. An alternate ending to the finale. Two-shot. Spoilers, 6x22 (sort of). Romance/Drama/Humor. Rated T/M for language and sexuality.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: As much as I loved how "Blue Bird" ended, I felt sort of bad that Jane's plans for Lisbon at the hotel didn't go as he'd hoped. Not to say this fic will see the course of their true love going smoothly. But imagine Abbot and Cho didn't show up. Imagine Lisbon didn't find out he'd been playing her. Imagine the murder suspects had waited until the next day to start showing up at the hotel. Got all that? Now, let's pick up from dinner that night and take things in another direction…

**Blue Bird, Redux**

Everything was perfect. The champagne was chilling in the silver bucket on the table. Jane had ordered the crème brulee well in advance. The table afforded a beautiful view of the Gulf of Mexico, the sun setting upon the water, the candlelight glowing as the lights in the hotel restaurant began to dim for the evening.

And then Lisbon descended the stairs in the coral colored dress he'd bought for her. She literally took his breath away.

She smiled at him as he watched her take each step, and he toasted her with his cocktail, returning her smile while his heart flipped over in anticipation of what he was about to do.

In a last-ditch effort to keep her with him, he was going to share what was in his heart. Even though it was hard. Even though it might be too late and she might go to DC to be with Pike anyway.

She walked past the concierge's desk and went straight to their table for two near the window. He rose to greet her.

"You look beautiful," he said softly, and she blushed. He held out her chair and she sat, and he couldn't resist touching her soft, bare shoulders with his warm hands. He felt her shiver a little at his touch, and it made him tremble inside with excitement at what the evening might hold.

"Thank you for this," she said, meaning the dress. "I love the color."

"I knew it would look perfect on you."

She smiled at him. "You don't look so bad yourself."

He'd shaved. Bought a new shirt from one of the hotel's boutiques, along with a pale green tie that matched his eyes.

He could see the spark of sensual appreciation in her gaze, could feel it charging the air between them.

"Thanks," he said.

Their waiter arrived and presented them with menus, then he popped the cork of the champagne and poured them each a glass.

"Wow," commented Lisbon. "Champagne!"

"It's a special occasion, isn't it?" he explained. "Our last case together. Perhaps our last night, if our murder suspect shows up as planned."

"You think he'll come tonight?" she asked, looking a bit disappointed at the prospect.

"I don't know for certain, but I think it unlikely. Now, discussion of our current case is officially on the shelf for the rest of the evening, deal?"

She grinned, her dimples transforming her face. He blinked, allowing himself to drop his guard and show for once how much her smiles had always affected him. Her eyes widened at what she saw in his expression, and she blushed anew, picking up her champagne flute to hide her reaction.

"Deal," she agreed.

"A toast then,"said Jane, raising his glass. "To us, and to a friendship that has spanned years and even continents."

"To us," she repeated, their glasses ringing when they touched.

As they took their first sip, their eyes met and held, and they both downed their wine faster than they should, each seeking a much-needed dose of courage.

The waiter appeared again a few minutes later, and they gave their orders of pan-seared scallops and grilled mahi mahi.

Now that this was finally happening, after a week's worth of planning, Jane was suddenly at a loss for words. But he couldn't afford to behave this way; it was too late for hesitation. He had to reach from deep inside himself for the nerve to articulate his feelings, because if he didn't, she was as good as gone, and this meal might well be their last together. For Jane, it was a matter of life or complete emotional death.

"Teresa-" he began earnestly.

"You remember our first case together?" she asked, holding out her glass for a refill. He complied, but he found himself a little off kilter at her sudden change of topic. He struggled internally to regroup.

"Yes," he finally managed, focusing. "I was a pathetic mess."

She smiled gently. "Yes, you were. I only mention it because when I look at you today—how much you've changed, how far you've come—it makes me happy. I know you'll be all right now. I won't have to worry about you."

He regarded her thoughtfully a moment, noted that her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. It humbled him to realize that she'd worried about him over the years, though of course he'd always known she had. He hadn't allowed himself to care. He'd known he'd probably been the subject of many of her prayers as well, but in his quest for Red John, he'd forced himself not to dwell on the pain he must have caused her, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to keep his eyes on the prize. But no more.

Since he'd returned from South America, and she'd pointed out that he'd never considered her feelings in the past, he'd firmly resolved to put her happiness before his for a change. He was only now coming to the conclusion that neither of them would be truly happy if she left. The truth was, he didn't ever want her to stop worrying about him, because that would mean she wasn't thinking of him at all. Those two years on the island, he could thinking of no one _but _her.

"I only survived all this time because of you, Lisbon. Because of your support, and your indulgence and your patience. I'm only back in the States because of you. A free man because of you. _Alive_ because of you."

"Jane—"

"No, listen to me. I owe you a debt of gratitude I can never repay, and for things you—well, you have no idea about."

He thought of that moment after he'd killed Red John with his bare hands. It would have been so easy to pull the trigger and kill himself, too. But he hadn't, because of her. Once again, she'd saved his life without even realizing it.

"Jane," she said again, her voice a shaky whisper.

He blinked back his own sudden tears. "So don't think I'll be okay if you leave, because I won't. I don't say this to make you feel guilty, or to manipulate you into staying. I'm just being honest. You deserve my honesty for a change."

The waiter chose that charged moment to present their meals and they forced themselves to eat. The food was delicious, but neither of them enjoyed it. He watched Lisbon pick at her scallops and felt instantly ashamed. This meal wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be light and happy, and then he was going to ease his way into admitting his true feelings, which he hoped would be enough to compel her to stay.

He tried to turn things back to their initial lightheartedness, but the moment was lost and he wanted to kick himself for jumping straight into the deep stuff. The conversation began to fizzle out, as she was becoming more and more uncomfortable and unhappy with her thoughts. The crème brulee didn't even seem to cheer her.

When she removed the cloth napkin from her lap, he felt a growing sense of panic.

"There's dancing in the lounge," he said, trying to restrain his desperation.

"Dancing?" she repeated, and he didn't mistake the new spark in her eye at the suggestion.

"Yes. Come dancing with me. For old time's sake." And he smiled a little, pleased beyond measure when her own smile returned.

"Okay," she said. "For a little while."

The lounge was dark and moody, a lone pianist playing old standards and current ballads on a baby grand in a corner. Jane immediately took her hand and led her to the dance floor in the center of the room, where other couples swayed to an old Sinatra tune.

He pulled her closer than he ought, but she didn't protest, and with her high heels they were nearly the same height. His hand rested on her lower back to guide her, one small hand in his, her other landing on his shoulder. He could feel her soft breasts against his chest as he directly held her gaze. He imagined she could feel the steady throb of his heart beneath hers.

"Do you remember the first time we danced?" he asked, trying to find a happier stop on Memory Lane.

She smiled. "Yes. It was on a case—someone else's class reunion."

He'd thought of that time often—the most prolonged moment he'd ever held her. They'd danced again over the years—CBI Christmas parties, a fundraising gala—but nothing had ever seemed as intimate as that first time, when she'd laid her head against his shoulder and swayed with him, lost in the music of her favorite song.

"Well, now that you're leaving, you think you could finally share your most intimate secret with me?"

"My most-?" And then she laughed, the memory returning of their dance floor conversation from long ago. His eyes smiled into hers.

"Tenor sax," she admitted.

He looked miffed. "I _guessed_ saxophone," he reminded her.

"But not _tenor_ sax," she corrected.

"Meh. Semantics."

"It was nice to drive _you_ crazy for a change."

"You certainly did that," he said huskily, and his hand rose to lightly trace the line of her backbone. "Many sleepless nights followed that dance."

"Yes," she breathed, for that was true of her also.

His hand found the ends of her long hair and he played with the soft locks.

"I'm glad I can put that mystery to rest at last," he said, his eyes sparkling. "But I suppose I'm not surprised. I can tell you have amazing embouchure." His eyes rested on her lips and they parted slightly at his words, a blush warming her cheeks.

They continued to dance in silence, and her hand on his shoulder crept closer to his collar, her fingertips barely grazing the hair at his nape. He couldn't help his slight shiver, or the darkening of his eyes as he looked at her. Her eyes rested on each feature of his face, and he knew she was committing him to memory. Without thinking, her hand touched his cheek and he held his breath when her eyes found his again. He let her see it at last—his longing, his desire.

"Teresa," he whispered, and she turned suddenly shy on him, her eyes closing against the strong feeling she'd seen there. And so he pressed his smooth cheek to hers, breathed in the sweet smell of cherry blossoms.

One song ended and another began, the pianist wisely moving from one slow dance to the next, correctly gauging the mood of the dancers. He held her hand now between their bodies, their sensual awareness increasing as each moment slipped by.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm going to take a short break. I'll see you back here in a few."

The pianist broke the spell, and piped in adult contemporary emitted from the speakers. Some dancers continued, but most left the floor to find chairs and order a drink.

"Let's take a walk on the beach," he suggested. She nodded, still in a daze, and he led her easily to the lounge exit, then through a sliding glass door that led outside. At the end of the paved walkway, she paused to take off her sandals, and Jane gladly offered his support while she balanced on one foot. She smiled as her bare feet met the sand, still warm from the sun.

The moon was up and they breathed in the fresh gulf air, walking close to each other along the shore, though they were no longer touching.

"It's a beautiful night," she said.

"Yes."

"I'm glad we're doing this. It's a fitting end," she said. "We started on one coast..."

She looked to her left and saw that he was no longer beside her. She turned back to see he had stopped, was looking out into the waves as the tide brought them higher up on shore.

She walked back to stand beside him.

"Jane?"

He turned to her then, his hands going to her bare upper arms.

"Don't go," he said passionately.

She took an involuntary step back. "What?"

"I thought I could let you go, but I can't. Not without telling you the truth of what I feel."

"Jane," she repeated, beginning to pull away in fear. But he held her fast, dipped his head a little so she would be forced to meet his eyes.

"It's too late," she began.

"It doesn't have to be. Just please, let me say this, and if you still want to leave…"

She nodded, and by the light of the moon he could see the pounding of her pulse in her slim throat.

"The truth is…I love you. I've been afraid to tell you. Afraid to get too close to someone again. Afraid of letting myself be happy, that I didn't deserve it. I know I don't deserve _you_. Pike can offer you everything I can't—stability, normalcy, sanity. You'd be crazy yourself to give that up. But I'm selfish enough that I can't let you go without telling you my true feelings. If you go anyway I'll understand, but there it is, the unvarnished truth."

Her face was streaked with tears by the end of his speech, her chest rising and falling with emotion. He felt the muscles in her arms tense, and he wondered if she was considering punching him in the nose.

"You bastard," she hissed.

"Teresa—"

"Truth? _Now_ you tell me the _truth_? For weeks I've given you the chance to tell me how you feel, and first you only spouted that bull about how you want me to be happy, but then you switch gears on me and say don't go, don't break up the team. What the hell, Jane?"

"I know, I know. I've sent mixed messages—"

"You think?"

"But I'm telling you the whole truth now, I swear."

"Well, here's another truth, Patrick Jane: I think you should go to straight to Hell!"

She broke away from him now, marching back toward the hotel, her long dress tangling in her legs so that she nearly tripped before she stopped and angrily gathered her skirt up to her knees. Jane would have smiled if he weren't so desperate. But he wasn't quitting this time. She was still here with him, so he still had a chance.

He caught up with her and grabbed her left arm, spinning her around to face him, causing her to drop her sandals in the sand.

"Stop, Teresa. Please. I love-"

She tried to jerk away again, but he held fast. She gave a low growl of frustration.

"You're like a child, Jane, not wanting to give up your toy. You don't really care about the toy, you just care if someone else wants to play with it."

His lips quirked a little at her analogy. This was a mistake. Her right hand was still free and before he could clearly see her intent in the dim light, she'd balled her fist and swung with all her might.

"How's that for old time's sake!"

Jane found himself on his ass in the sand, blood dripping from his nose.

He watched her stomp toward the hotel, and he rose slowly to his feet. Hope suffused him.

"She still loves me," he said with a smile.

He flinched when the movement shot a sharp pain between his eyes. He dug in his pocket for a handkerchief and held it to his bleeding nose, then picked up her sandals and followed after her.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Inside her hotel room, Lisbon angrily began packing her clothes, cussing a blue streak about demanding, inconsiderate men. Jane was the main subject of her diatribe, but Pike didn't escape her wrath either. She'd do well to go back to Washington, get her old job back and to Hell with both of them.

There was a knock on the door. It didn't take a psychic to know who was on the other side.

"Go away, Jane."

"Come on, Lisbon. Open up. Let's talk about this."

"No. It's too late, like I told you."

"I love you. It's not too late."

"You promised that if I didn't like what you had to say, you'd let me go."

She waited for him to reply, then breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't. But then her eyes filled with tears because perhaps he really _had_ given up.

"I lied," he said, and she turned in surprise to see him standing in the connecting doorway between their suites. "I'm not letting you go."

Lisbon rounded on him, more than willing to punch him again.

"Get out."

"No," he said. "Not unless you tell me one thing."

"What?"

"Tell me you don't love me."

He advanced on her but she stood her ground. "I. Don't. Love. You," she enunciated through clenched teeth.

He looked into her eyes and grinned. "Liar."

"Jane, I'm warning you—"

But his mouth was suddenly crushing hers, his hands threading through her hair, holding her still while he ravaged her mouth. For a surprised moment, her hands remained balled into fists, but then, as his lips softened, his tongue entreating entrance, she moaned and opened to him. Her hands gripped his lapels and she was kissing him back, the years of want, of denial, melting away as she gave herself completely to the moment...

**TBC**

**A/N: It was a real shame that those connecting rooms went to waste, wasn't it? Well, waste not, want not, as they say. Chapter 2 is on its way…Please let me know if you enjoyed Chapter 1.**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Wow! All your amazing reviews really inspired me to get to work quickly on the second chapter. Thank you all so much! This chapter is rated a soft "M", but I try to be tasteful, so hopefully it comes across as more romantic than dirty.

Enjoy ;)

**Chapter 2**

Lisbon felt like she was drowning. Her senses were overwhelmed with the scent of him, the taste, the touch of his warm hands on her arms, her face, in her hair. It was surreal. Jane's lips were on hers, and they were as sensual and talented as she'd imagined. His hands—those beautifully expressive hands—were caressing her everywhere he could reach with her clothes on, making her gasp with need. Jane's hair was just as soft and amazing as she'd predicted, curling around her fingers at his nape. She could feel the heat of his chest against hers, and lower, he was hard and throbbing against her stomach. The longer he kissed her, the weaker with desire she became.

"Oh…God…Jane," she breathed. One clever hand cupped her breast, his thumb caressing her nipple through the fabric of her dress. His mouth moved to her neck, his breath loud and raspy near her ear, while she slipped off his suit jacket, letting it fall to the floor. By unspoken agreement, they moved toward the bed. Soon they were both lying down, facing one another.

Her trembling hands went to his tie, and she loosened the knot, listening to her own breathing as she strained to concentrate. He paused to watch her, his hand hovering over the bandeaux top of her dress. She met his eyes and he gave her a slow, sweet smile. He too was feeling the unreality of the moment. She slid the tie from around his neck, threw it on the floor behind her, and then her fingers began working at his shirt buttons. He lay there, reveling in her touch as each inch of his chest was revealed to her hungry gaze.

Jane felt a sudden wave of insecurity. He'd worked hard the last twelve years to present himself as almost asexual, to stay buttoned up like a Victorian spinster. He'd gotten so good at suppressing his sexuality that he had forgotten what it felt like to express this part of himself willingly. He was approaching middle age, and some days he felt every second of it. His physique hadn't exactly been priority one either. No doubt his spirit was willing—his body too, for that matter—but would he be pleasing to Lisbon? He was dreadfully out of practice, and she had been in a relationship for weeks now…

"Hey," she said suddenly. Some of his emotions must have shown on his face, and her expression had turned concerned. "You okay?"

Her hand was resting flat on his chest now, and he knew she could feel how hard his heart was pounding. His brain was racing just as fast, too fast to find the calm he longed for, the focus.

"Yeah," he said, taking a deep breath. "You?"

"We don't have to do this," she said. "If you're not ready."

The thought of not being with her now, after all he'd put them both through, suddenly made all his insecurities completely unimportant. He leaned forward to kiss her. "Oh, I'm ready," he whispered against her lips.

From then on, Jane threw out all his inhibitions and went with his heart, went with what his body wanted. And both wanted Lisbon very badly. He nuzzled at her scented cleavage (ignoring the pain from his sore nose), while his hands cupped her breasts, his tongue darting out to trace the tops of the perfectly rounded flesh. Her hands found his hair and her breath caught as he gently pulled down her dress. He'd just reached beneath her back to release the clasp of her strapless bra when, with the ping of a cell phone, reality set in.

Her fingers stilled in his hair.

"Jane," she said, with a hitch in her voice. "We-we have to stop."

He lifted his head to look at her. He'd recognized that particular tone. Only Pike could have put the brakes on this now.

He rolled to his back, looking up at the ceiling fan while she sat up, pulling up her dress over those beautiful breasts he'd almost gotten to see. She went to the phone she'd left on the nightstand and looked at her new text message.

_Hey, babe. How's the case going?  
_

She sat heavily on the bed.

"I'll give you some privacy," Jane said, and got up to head back to his own room.

"Jane. I'm sorry. I—I got lost in the moment. It wouldn't be fair to him if we—"

He held up his hand. "It's okay."

She was an honorable woman. It had been wrong of him to get carried away when she'd only regret it the next morning. Teresa Lisbon was no cheater.

"What will you say to him?" he asked, fear gripping his heart.

"I don't know."

It was like she'd hit him again. With both fists.

"Oh."

"Jane—"

"You know where to find me," he said, and he left her to call her boyfriend.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

It was too much of a temptation to stay in his suite where the walls were thin enough that he could hear her conversation with Pike, especially if he pressed his ear against the door. So he went out to the balcony and stared blindly into the darkness. The sound of the waves should have been soothing, but it was slowly driving him crazy. He stood at the rail, gripping it tightly, feeling like screaming at the top of his lungs. He was still unbelievably turned on, and that frustration was warring with his fear that Lisbon had come to her senses, that she woken up from their sensual daze and realized she couldn't be with him after all.

Thirty minutes later, he heard her call his name from inside his suite.

"I'm out here," he said hoarsely, his voice breaking.

If she was going to end it with him, he'd much prefer the cover of darkness, where he could perhaps hide some of his utter devastation from her pitying gaze.

She joined him at the railing, and he knew at once she'd been crying. He couldn't ask her what had happened; he wasn't physically capable of it.

"It's over," she said, and he felt his legs grow weak beneath him. He couldn't speak, but held on to the railing for dear life.

She touched his arm. "Did you hear me? I told Marcus I couldn't go with him to DC."

He was so surprised that for a moment her words didn't completely register.

"Oh God, Jane. That was the most difficult conversation I've ever had."

She wiped her face with the tissue already balled in her hand. "He's such a good man. He loves me, wants to make a life with me. He was so hurt. I hated doing that over the phone, but I couldn't see going all the way out there just to break his heart. I feel like a worthless piece of crap."

Jane felt the relief warm him like a hot cup of tea. He pushed it down, however, as he focused on Lisbon's pain.

"I'm sorry, Lisbon," he said finally, and pulled her into his arms. He let her cry on his shoulder a minute.

"Was he angry?" he asked, for he felt at least fifty-percent responsible for this mess. Maybe even sixty. He hoped Pike hadn't taken it out on her.

"No," she said, sniffling. "He understood. And he didn't seem too surprised, really."

"Hmm," was his noncommittal reply.

This certainly supported Jane's opinion that Pike had been deluding himself where Lisbon was concerned. He had to know that her heart wasn't completely in it. After all, Lisbon was a terrible actress, and wasn't Pike an FBI agent? They were supposed to be trained in reading people.

She pulled away from him to blot her eyes again. "You don't have to be diplomatic, Jane. You didn't really want me to be with him."

He nodded. "True. But I thought he might be what you needed, Lisbon. He was good for you—a little pushy perhaps, but good, generally speaking. Letting him have you was my valiant attempt at being selfless."

She laughed without humor. "Oh, _now_ you choose to be selfless. Hell of a time to start that, when it was the lives of three people at stake." She blew her nose loudly, and he grinned.

"Well," he said tentatively. "At the risk of getting punched again, I have to say, Lisbon, you weren't exactly forthcoming with your true feelings either. Why was I ultimately the one to have to prove myself?"

She was quiet a moment, and Jane tensed, fearing the worst. When would he learn to keep his mouth shut? Or know when _not_ to? This was one of the reasons he'd remained celibate for over a decade, he thought wryly. Personal relationships were too damn confusing.

"You're right," she said at last. "I did sort of make things worse by getting more deeply involved with Marcus when I knew I was in love with you. But I wasn't sure-"

Had his ears deceived him?

"Wait—" he interrupted. "What did you say?"

"I made things worse—"

"Not that. The _other_ thing."

Even in the darkness of the balcony, he knew she was blushing.

"You heard me," she said shyly.

"Say it again," he whispered.

"Say what again?" Her lips quirked in amusement.

"I suppose I deserve that," he told her sheepishly. He'd once outright lied to her about that very thing.

She turned into his embrace again, her arms going around his neck. Instead of answering him, she tiptoed up to kiss his mouth in passionate reply.

They started all over on his bed, and this time there was no hesitation. With Pike out of the picture, there were no more emotional barriers between them. Soon, there were no physical barriers either, as he made quick work of disrobing her, stepping away from the bed to stare at his newly uncovered treasure while he dispensed with the rest of his own clothing.

By the way she was devouring him with her eyes, he needn't have felt insecure, he realized, and he grinned before joining her on the bed again, covering her body with his own. It was nearly overwhelming, the feeling of her bare skin beneath him. He adjusted himself so that he hovered at her slick entrance and her eyes flew open in surprise. It would just take one push and he would be home.

"Don't worry," he whispered in her ear. "I'm not that out of practice."

After a quick nip of her earlobe, he kissed his way down to her glorious breasts. He took each rosy tip between his lips, suckling, licking, teasing until she cried out with passion and frustration. But he continued his assault while his hand snaked down between their bodies, touching her intimately with deft fingers. He wanted to laugh with glee at how ready she was, but he smiled instead against her breasts. His former prowess in the bedroom had returned with a vengeance, having been neatly stowed behind a locked door inside his memory palace. Slowly, he aroused her to the brink of insanity, her hands wild in his hair, guiding him away from her aching breasts to go lower still. Her desire couldn't have been more clear, and he was happy to oblige.

It took exactly two targeted licks before she came undone, and he reveled in the glory of it. She was beautiful in her ecstasy, more incredible than he had imagined. He'd rightly predicted that while she appeared staid and cool on the job, she would be wildly responsive in bed. Before she could come down completely, however, he slid atop her body again, reverently kissing her flushed cheeks, whispering his love for her in her ear. Her arms wound around him, holding him close until her heart had slowed to a tolerable level.

"My turn," she said, and found his full lips.

Still kissing him, she rolled him to his back, and he shivered involuntarily when he saw the erotic intentions in her eyes. He hoped he wouldn't embarrass himself before she was completely through with him. She began by administering her own sensual torture upon his flat nipples, licking and biting until he thought he might die from the pleasure of it. She worshiped his body from head to toe with her mouth and hands, avoiding the hardened part of him that yearned for her touch the most.

Even if he had his wits about him enough to employ biofeedback, there was no way he could control his reaction when she finally gripped him with her small hands and took him inside her hot, wet mouth.

"Son of a bitch," he hissed, and the hum of her laughter nearly ended things right there.

Lisbon looked up at his face, supreme mischief in her eyes at the almost painful expression she found there. God, but she was enjoying this. Patrick Jane out of control at her hands was a dream come true for her. She went to work, employing every trick she knew to take him to the edge, then pull him back again, while he said a few choice words she'd never heard come out of his mouth before.

"Teresa," he finally panted. "I don't know what you're punishing me for, but I surrender. I give up. Just make it stop, I'm begging you."

She chuckled at his uncharacteristic melodrama, and before he could protest in his weakened state, straddled him and guided him slowly inside her body. They both moaned when he filled her completely. His shaking hands moved to either side of her hips, holding her still while he tried both mentally and physically to adapt to the indescribable pleasure.

But Lisbon was too impatient, and before he was quite ready for it, she began to move. He bit down on his lower lip, sweat gathering on his brow and chest as he tried to make it last for her. She leaned forward as she felt him thrust with as much restraint as he could muster.

"Just let go," she told him, looking deeply into his crazed eyes, her hands resting on his damp cheeks. He managed to focus on her, comprehension dawning, and she smiled.

Apparently, that was all the permission he needed, for she yelped in surprise when she found herself on her back once more, Jane pounding into her with such force the bed shook. She laughed and groaned breathlessly, delighting as he finally allowed himself to give her everything he had ever held back.

Nothing prepared her for the emotion she felt when, with one last thrust, he said her name and emptied himself inside of her, whereupon she found her own release once more. His body jerked several times as she convulsed around him, and he trembled uncontrollably for some minutes afterwards, having collapsed upon her in replete exhaustion.

She caressed his clammy back, tears filling her eyes at the beauty of what they'd found together.

"I love you," she said softly. "Since the day we met, I've loved you."

He found the strength to raise his head and look at her, his own eyes suspiciously moist. He wiped one of her tears with the pad of his thumb, pressing his lips sweetly to hers.

"And I will love _you_ until the day I die," he told her, meaning it with every fiber of he being. And then he smiled. "See what a great team we make?"

**THE END**

**A/N: Thanks for reading this! If you haven't read any of my stories before, there are lots to choose from, just click on my name. I hope you check them out, and, even better, let me know what you think. Reviews are better than chocolate (okay, I exaggerate, but you know what I mean ;)**


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